


(I Long For) Yesterday

by Kandakicksass



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mourning, Not Actually That Sad, Song Lyrics, post John's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6731917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul is singing Yesterday live sometime in late 1981.  The song takes on a new meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I Long For) Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EqualsEquivalent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsEquivalent/gifts).



> I'm so sorry, I just keep listening to this song and getting emotional, so I wanted to be emotional for a reason.

Paul smiles out at the crowd – smaller than he’s played, but not miniscule at all by any means. They’re smiling and clapping still, and when he grabs his guitar and walks over the mic, they go wild, cheering like mad.

God, Paul has missed this. His shows have been fewer and far between lately – still grieving, Linda explains calmly when he tries to explain why he rarely feels like leaving the house. It’s been a year, but it still smarts, and he still can’t quite bring himself to talk about it much.

“You’ve all been lovely tonight,” Paul tells them with a little bow, and a teenager near the front laughs loudly, all delighted smiles and wide, bright eyes. He winks at her, and turns back to the general crowd. “Really, really lovely. Such a great show – not to toot my own horn, or anything.” Classic McCartney exaggerated wink, more laughter. It feels almost formulated but not, he thinks, any less genuine.

“I’ve got another song for you,” he continues. “As you can see.” He brandishes the guitar with a little grin, and they cheer again. “This is an old one,” he tells them. “I wrote this for a band you may know, the Beatles?” He laughs with them. “And my friend… my friend really hated it, because it was so good, but it was so good he couldn’t help but love it, too.” He shrugs, like he hasn’t planned this speech all night, hasn’t planned to talk about his friend, just a little. He glances over, and Linda, from the side of the stage, smiles at him encouragingly. “So I hope you all enjoy it like he did, maybe with fewer snide comments.” Several members of the crowd look a little unsure of how to respond, but when he laughs lightly, they seem to ease up a little.

He starts playing, lightly, and repeats the intro until the cheering stops.

“Yesterday,” he begins lightly, and it’s as comfortable as breathing, this song. It feels like part of him. “All my troubles seemed so far away…”

When he’d written this song, it had been almost vague. There hadn’t been a solid inspiration for it – though later, it made him think of his mum a little. Now, though, there’s a much more real sorrow underneath the lyrics. It’s not about that, but it’s cathartic to sing it as if it were.  

“Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be.” He pauses, a little choked up, but just repeats the measure and continues, “There’s a shadow hanging over me.”

He looks out at the crowd with the large, soulful eyes that had gotten him so much attention as a young man. “Yesterday came suddenly.”

It’s dead silent in the venue, the crowd watching attentively as he belts the chorus. A couple girls near the front are crying, and next to them, a lad in familiar looking circle-framed glasses has downcast eyes. He almost falters, but doesn’t, and rips his eyes away.

“Yesterday,” he says, only a little unsteadily. “Love was such an easy game to play – now I need a place to hide away.” He swallows as quickly as possible and finishes the line, “Oh, I believe in yesterday.”

He glances over at Linda again, who’s not smiling anymore. He manages a feeble grin in her direction, but she can see as easily can feel himself faltering. He’d known that dedicating this song to John would make it a little intense – but he hadn’t thought that he’d get this emotional.

“Why he –“ He notices his hiccup immediately, but continues, trying desperately to cover up the blip. “ – had to go, I don’t know…” He prepares for it, knows that he should and will say it – “He wouldn’t say.” His fingers fumble a little on the strings, and he hates himself for it, hates the looks he can see on the few faces he can make out in the front few rows.

“I said something wrong, now I long –“ His voice, embarrassingly, devastatingly, cracks. “- for yesterday.”

The girls who had been crying next to the boy with the circle-framed glasses are watching him with wide eyes, still crying. When he meets their eyes, and feels his own go misty, one of them breaks his line of sight to sob into the boy’s shoulder.

“Yesterday,” he sings, quieter and quieter. “Love was such an easy game to play.” He’s not going to let himself cry on stage, damn it. He’s just fucking not. “Now I need a place to hide away… oh, I believe in yesterday.” His throat is itchy and it’s hard to get the hum out at the end of the song, not properly or even audibly. His lips are twitching, the way they do when he’s trying not to cry. He clenches his jaw for a minute, and finishes the song.

He’s looking down at his feet at first, but when he glances up, an entire crowd is crying with him. He breathes, slowly, and doesn’t bother to wipe away the tear rolling down his cheek.

He smiles.  


End file.
